


It's okay, you know. It's okay to need someone.

by Nylita



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff and Angst, I Love You, Marriage Proposal, Sexy Times, Smut, Speculation, What if?, different POV, hypothesis, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:05:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 10,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5228000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nylita/pseuds/Nylita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a safe haven of all things and random feelings Olicity awakes inside. A lot of ficlets and drabbles that refuses to remain inside my head. Let the games begin. :)</p><p>Receiving prompts with joy.<br/>Tumblr: yesclearlyimakegoodlifechoices.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tell me not to go

“Just tell me not to go.”

She stood in the doorway, ready to slip out, to walk away from his life forever.

“Oliver. Tell me not to go.”

She was begging him. Begging him to say something, anything. To make this worth something.

He didn't say anything. He simply stood there, hood up, with the bow resting in his hand. His eyes obscured behind the mask.

She closed her eyes. How could it hurt so much? How would she survive?

“Goodbye, Oliver.”

Clamping her teeth together to stop herself from letting out a worthless sob, she pulled the door more open and didn't look back.

The sound of it slamming shut didn't come.

She spun around, or more accurately _was_ spun around by a hand tangling with her own.

When he came into view, the bow was gone and the hood down. The mask was still on but she could see his eyes now. They were focused on hers with an intensity she had never seen before. It wasn't the sharp focus when he was chasing down criminals. Nor the sort of intensity caused by anger or pain. It wasn't fear.

It was something she couldn't explain.

“Stay.”

His fingers tensed between hers, shackling her to him with violence.

“Stay, Felicity."

 


	2. You're an ass

“You're an ass!”

Felicity stormed past him with her fists tight and her steps stomping. It didn't hold for long. All of a sudden she was swivelled around, her back pressed against the nearby wall and his arms caging her in. She glared up at him with fire in her eyes.

“Oli-”

He cut her off with a kiss that made her completely forget that she was furious. His tongue took and his teeth bit into hers when she gasped. When the need for air became too much, he laved her neck and marked the skin while she was trying her very best to build up the righteous anger that had dissipated against his stupid lips. It wasn't going well but she tried.

No one would ever say Felicity was a pushover.

“Don't think – oh, my god, right there.”

Her sharp tone turned into a soft plea when he found that spot that was only his. And the bastard knew exactly what that did to her.

When his callous but warm fingers dipped beneath the hem of her dress, she gave up. She wasn't a total idiot after all. When he pulled it up and off, she helped by raising her arms before she focused intensely on his shirt and the sea of buttons ensconcing his skin.

“I'm buying you new clothes later,” she grumbled while fighting against the tiny buttons.

Why were they so damn small?

Meanwhile, she felt instead of saw his amused smile. While he waited for her to finish undressing him, he pulled her hair-tie loose from around her ponytail, making blonde tresses bounce down. Then he kissed her distracted lips before pecking her nose and bury his own into the top of her head.

“Screw it,” she snapped before simply gripping his lapels and pulling the fabric apart.

Buttons flew everywhere but his skin was finally there for her to touch. And she did just that. Not a second after her hand met his rippled stomach, her legs were hiked up by his insanely strong hands, her body curved between him and the wall and his mouth drinking hers.

She gripped him tighter, pushing into him while she could feel one of his hands leave her sides a split second before he entered her in one stroke. The complete feeling of being together, feeling the pleasure with him, made her moan his name when her head tipped back.

Her neck was open for him to feast on but he didn't. Instead he held her up with only one hand – cause he's ridiculously strong, which was hot most of the time and downright infuriating the rest of it – and with the other, he cupped her damp neck and pulled her back to him. Gazing back into her eyes, he looked like he'd just seen a miracle.

“I love you,” he said, while stroking him thumb over her jaw.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Do you think I've forgotten why I'm angry with you? I've just pushed it back, but believe me, Oliver Jonas Queen, I'll smother you later.”

He grinned, let his hand drop, and pushed her back into the wall with a snap of his hips. Her breath hitched against her will.

“How can I make it up to you?” he asked while littering random kisses and bites on her sensitive skin.

“This is a start,” she murmured when he changed the angle and came deeper.

His smug grin made her let go of his shoulders, grab his face and focus all her efforts on the kiss. It didn't take long until he groaned her name. She pulled back with a satisfied smirk.

“I love you too, you ass.”

That was the last thing both of them said in a long time.


	3. Heaven

His hands found her skin, how it formed and followed her every curve.

When he reached her shoulder blades, he lifted her impossibly close.

Feeling her inside his soul.

Maybe he had gone through hell. Done unforgivable things.

But this?

Her?

She was heaven.

The only heaven he needed.


	4. Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I'm lost.  
> But at least I'm looking.

”Let's get out of here. Forget this hell of a week.”

This was an out if she'd ever seen one. She only needed to nod and take his hand to make it all go away, shove it in some corner where they'd never talk about it again.

One move and it would be gone.

Every part of her wanted to forget. To push away the impending pain. Because she knew what really allowing herself to feel something for him would do.

He'd break her heart, without even meaning to.

He would never love her. He was incapable of it. This decision would only lead to hurt.

He'd break her until the pieces didn't fit anymore.

Felicity pulled her hand behind her back.

”I don't want to.”


	5. Apart from my face, I'm fabulous

Oliver jolted awake like he'd been electrocuted, sending the weight on him flying off. A second later that weight groaned.

”Mother's ass,” Felicity whined from the floor.

She was laying smack down, face buried in the not-so-soft wooded floors. Oliver scrambled off the bed, kneeling beside her.

”Are you okay?”

Still talking to the flooring, Felicity raised a finger at where she thought he was currently residing. He was on the other side.

”Apart from my face, I'm fabulous,” came out muffled.

”I'm so sorry, Felicity.”

She angled her arms and pushed herself off the floor. When she was high enough, she fell back on her hip and stared at him.

”I told you no IT, but did you listen? Of course not. If you can't deal with horror movies, why do you insist on us watching them?”

”There was a clown,” he said, like it was explanation enough. 

”You knew there was a clown. I told you there was. The case had a picture of it!”

He smiled sheepishly.

”What? Nothing to say? No clever retorts?”

His mouth widened into what she had dubbed as 'her smile', the dimples showing deeply. He was trying to appease her and dammit, it was working.

”You're lucky I love you,” she muttered under her breath and let him pull her into bed again.


	6. I love you [1]

She was pacing back and forth, so fast that she was almost panting. Her heels clicked and tapped against the floor while she waited without having the faintest idea of how she was supposed to do this. How could she?

It was impossible. Unmountable.

Was she really going to risk everything, tip her whole life askew for this? No, she couldn't. Felicity changed her mind yet again, just like she had done every night for longer than she cared to know. There was too much at stake, too much to lose. It was silly to even muse about it. It was just a silly fantasy, which she would never voice aloud, because that would be suicidal and she was a lot of things, but into self-harm was not one of them. That was just plain creepy.

Her fast pace slowed down when she let her new decision sink in. Everything was fine. Nothing had changed. She was still a good enough liar to conceal it. But what would happen the day she wouldn't be any longer?

What then?

That simple notion made her anxiously ramp up her stomping yet again. In fact it was that, and her upset heartbeat, that made her miss the approaching sounds. Usually, she was calm by this time. Not once had she let on what she was doing down there before one of them got back. They could never guess that almost every night she was fighting her inner turmoil and every night she locked it safe away from knowing eyes. That was how she hid it. She simply let it out when no one was around to see.

But now she heard the steps too late. They were already upon her when she realized that she was still sort of sprinting intervals across the cluttered space. The door opened and she froze mid-sprint to see Oliver standing there alone. And damn her stupid brain that apparently got overwhelmed by the sensory overload and her current state of mind, which made years of unyielding strength give way. No, give way was a nice way to put it. The walls she'd created to protect herself crashed and burned, burned like the hottest fire ever known to mankind. Damn it.

“I'm in love with you,” she blurted out, loud and clear in the otherwise very empty and very silent room. There was no way he could misinterpret those words. And there was no one there to blame them on. In all honesty she hadn't had an inkling of what she was going to say, but she didn't think she was _that_ idiotic.

Apparently she was wrong.

Immediately, almost before she had finished, Felicity slapped both of her hands over her mouth.

His reaction wasn't any better.

The door handle, which he had been holding, slipped from his grasp and it clicked shut quietly enough to not make a single sound. He didn't speak. It didn't even look like he was breathing when he firmly gripped the handrail just beside him. His eyes were wide and open, locking with hers that were huge from the shock and entrancing embarrassment.

She couldn't look away, exactly in the way that it's impossible to look away from an impending wreckage. This was going to be a bloodbath and she couldn't even close her eyes or cover her ears to escape. She did the next best thing. She tried to backtrack, as usual.

Shaking her head profusely, she put up her hands in a silent regret.

“Oh my god I love you.”

Her audible gasp was the only thing heard when she told him those words that she hadn't even acknowledged to herself. Shaking her head even more, she felt like she dying, right there on the spot.

“Oh no,” she said in an extremely shaky voice.

“That was _so_ not was I was going to say. What I meant to say was: I love you.”

Felicity covered her eyes.

_Oh, my god. Just let me die. Right now. Please!_

“Frackity frack,” she cursed under her breath. “Oliver … I'm so sorry, I don't mean to say it I just … I just love you – crap!”

She removed her hand and opted to stare at him where he was still standing on the top of the stairs, still holding on to the railing. It looked like his knuckles were white.

Great, he was now upset too. Awesome. How would this ever be salvageable?

“You know-I-No,” her mouth suddenly decided to not speak in incoherent sentences a second longer.

The timing sucked.

“No, I can't push it down anymore. I can't hold it in. I love you. I'm _in_ love with you.”

She kept talking, despite that all of her insides were falling over themselves to make her shut up. While she was sputtering out words like there was no tomorrow, Oliver made his way down the stairs. At her last sentence, he stumbled for a brief moment before safely placing his feet on the solid ground. Felicity turned with him while he walked. She was now facing him, still talking.

“I know you don't feel the same and I know I'm being really unfair, laying all of this on you. I mean it's unthinkable. It's just in my head, and we're not even on the same planet, let alone the same league. God, I'm so sorry, Oliver. Can't we just forg-”

Her steady flow of words were cut off. Oliver had breached the distance between them in three long steps and now he was a breath away. She looked up at him, unsure how she could feel even worse, but she somehow did. His eyes were fixes on hers, his face serious. Felicity gulped before opening her mouth to spew out something even more awkward when his hands skimmed her neck, encased her face and pulled her against him. Completely baffled, she stared unblinkingly up at him. His thumb stroked her cheek before he suddenly tilted her chin up just the slightest bit and kissed her.

His lips settled over hers firmly and she would probably faint, or in some other way wake him up from his apparent insanity. So she let her own hands, that had gripped his wrists, touch his arms and savour the strength of his shoulders before her legs completely gave away and she had no choice but to cling onto him for support. He made a noise in the back of his throat before roughly lacing his arm around her waist, pulling her on her toes.

She tried her best to reach but even with his help and the added heels she was too short. Oliver decided for the both of them. He lifted her with an ease that should be criminal and she was at once in a perfect position. With his crazy strength, he held her up with one hand and tangled his other one in her ruffled mess of hair. The pressure from his hand guided her down to his lips. Holding on tightly, she felt how he was moving but she didn't really care. Like not at all. Bring on the earthquakes.

She _really_ wouldn't care.

She moaned against his lips and then a bed - his bed - was against her back. Felicity didn't let go of his neck, which made them both fall on the mattress in a cluttered heap. She laughed against his lips and his deeper one mixed with hers.

Oliver's body was splayed over hers, his hips held snugly between her thighs. She reluctantly resisted to touch him long enough to tug at his clothes. It wasn't easy on the tiny bed but he pulled his leather jacket off and then helped her with her dress. When he scaled it away, he glanced quickly at her body before discarding the fabric to the floor without looking where it went.

Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to hers, and closed his eyes.

“I'm so lucky,” he mumbled. “I'm so lucky.”

Pulling back an inch, he kissed her quickly to make her open her eyes. When she gazed up at him, her eyes warm and trusting, he smiled.

He smiled like he'd just seen a miracle.

“I love you. I've been in love with you forever.”

He caressed her cheek.

“You're it for me, Felicity. You are it.”

Speechless, completely speechless, she laid there. Oliver. The one guy who had ever made her feel love in the way every romantic film or stupid book had put it. The one guy who had broken her heart in every way possible. The one who made her question life. The one who made her feel most alive.

The one.

“What took you so long?” she murmured back.

Oliver looked too stricken to answer. Instead he conveyed everything in the kiss that he gave her. He kissed her like she was never leaving. Like he was never ever letting her go.

“I'm here now. And you are never getting away from me again. Never.”


	7. I think we broke a lamp

"I think we broke a lamp," Felicity remarked between laboured breaths.

Oliver was focused on her neck, feeling her cave to his teeth.

He mumbled against her skin; "I don't care."

"I think we also broke the TV. It seems askew."

"Doesn't matter."

A fleeting moment, the only thing heard was how he was working his hands on her shirt.

Then ... "But I'm sure the entire kitchen is wrecked," she pointed out.

Okay, enough was enough. Oliver pulled back, holding her still by the waist.

"Felicity?"

Her skin was flushed, a ruffled mass of hair surrounding her now bare shoulders, markings on her neck.

"Yeah?"

He yanked her so that their stomachs' slid against one another's and their hips aligned. She bit her lip when she felt the connection.

"Shut up," he ordered lovingly before kissing her like his plan was to drive her mad.

It was.

They also broke the table that night.


	8. Three hundred and sixty-five days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'll have to breathe for both of us.  
> Make sure you stay alive.

Today would make it a year. One year ago, 365 days, he had stood right there, a few feet away and told her that he loved her. That had been his goodbye, his farewell. Hours later, Oliver Queen was eradicated from this world. He left her behind, like he always had.

Nothing was like he'd left it. They were now operating out of Queen Incorporated. She was CEO since Ray had left the city to find something he couldn't find there. The team had expanded with Thea, who finally was allowed to know, and Laurel. They didn't call themselves Team Arrow anymore, not even Felicity did it. Much like everything else, he'd taken that with him too. They rarely spoke about him. Never in the presence of her. She knew they worried, but she couldn't soothe them. It wasn't time yet. It had taken her months to search and even more months to finally give it up.

But they still had his suit. It was standing proud in a glass casing in the middle of the foundry, like the tombstone he never got to have. It was a reminder of older times, when they were better. Yes, the city still stood, but much like them it had been through too much to recover. It was renamed to Star City in homage to all lives lost in the past years.

Now, it blossomed.

She had grieved, much like the rest of them. She'd felt the loss of her best friend, her partner. The original trio becoming two. That loss was past. What was left was that 'I love you.' He'd meant it. She knew he had. But how could she grieve something that was never hers? He hadn't been hers. They had never even had a chance to begin. All they had ever given each other were endings. How do you grieve someone, how do you move on, when there's no moving on to?

He didn't even have a grave. There were nowhere she could place flowers. No place where she could talk to him. They had never recovered the body. A bloodied sword brought by Malcolm Merlyn had been enough. Enough to make them stop. Enough to make her break.

So here she stood, alone again. The other's had left a while ago. They hadn't prodded and she hadn't asked them to stay. It was better like this. She had been all alone back then, after he'd opened the door and stepped outside for the last time. It was only fitting that she'd do this alone too. With steady fingers, she opened the glass door.

It was softer, older, than she'd remembered it. Not as harsh and lethal now. Maybe that had been all him. Maybe he was the one who'd made it unyielding steel. Gingerly, she plucked the hood from the mannequin. Holding it tightly to her chest, Felicity couldn't help herself. She buried her face into it, searching for his scent.

Reality reminded her that he was gone. He hadn't worn those clothes in a year. There was no him left. Not even his scent that had always just been like warmth to her. Like the sun hitting your skin. Her fingers dug into the leather, pain and memories mixing in a swirling spiral.

When she was strong enough, she turned to the stretcher beside her and placed it there. The other things ended up on the stretcher too, except for one. Steadily, Felicity gripped the remarkably light bow. With an ease she hadn't felt in years, she hung it high on the wall behind the computers. It was in the farthest back of the room but it overlooked everything. From there, you could see the entry and the workout area, the mannequins and the round table. Stepping down the small ladder, she turned back around and suddenly wavered in her way. Hard, desperate, she gripped the handle of the stretcher when she stumbled forth.

No sound came out. She didn't utter any words. There were none to encompass this loss, this grief. Sadness wasn't enough. Anguish didn't cover it. What was she supposed to say, to this heap of leather and broken arrows that was the only remaining part of someone she'd loved and lost? No. She hadn't loved him. She loved him – still.

That's the one thing, above all else, which makes people hurt. No matter what happens to the once who dies, they get to rest in peace. They are done with the world. But the once who are left, they have to live the rest of their life without them. And you don't stop loving someone just because they're gone. You love them for the rest of your life. Felicity would always, _always,_ love Oliver.

It was a sickness.

She wished that she could view it as a gift, but it all truth it wasn't. He had invaded her life, made her feel things she hadn't known she was capable of feeling. And then he'd left her with the knowledge of what it was like to love someone with all your heart and never have a chance to live it.

It might have been hours. Days. Years. Who knew, really? But it was when she saw her own reflection – tiny, shaking – in the cold metal beneath her palm, that she realized that it was time.

The box was already prepared. As gently as she'd picked it all up, she was equally careful, placing the boots down first. The rest of the clothes came after. The quiver, and the arrows that she'd broken months ago, followed. The last thing was his mask. Felicity couldn't resist tracing the curve of it, remembering his voice. The finality of this didn't hit her. It didn't feel like an end. It felt like closure.

That was how she picked up the last piece of that life, a lost dream, and closed the lid.

 

↔

It was snowing.

The whole world was getting painted with heavy flakes and she couldn't help but smile. It was going to be Hanukkah soon. Yanking her woollen hat off her head, she pulled off her mittens too and shoved them in the bag. She spread her arms in the air, breathing out puffs of smoke, and joyfully she laughed at the sky. She laughed and laughed until tears streamed down her face and she didn't care why she cried. She simply did. Not bothering wiping them away, she slowly made her way down the street. It was empty and quiet. Gone were the hectic cars and stilted greetings. Now everything was woven into a warm blanket of calm. Her hair was wet and half-covered by snowflakes when she reached the corner and turned. It didn't occur to her to think where she was going. Somehow she ended up outside of John's door. She knocked but no one answered. Like she'd done a hundred times before, she simply walked right inside.

Felicity didn't need to call out to them when she entered. They were home. She could hear them and also what sounded like Thea and Roy.

“Felicity?” John called but she didn't bother answering. Instead she crossed the threshold to the living room and felt how her lungs stopped working - her heart too. She froze on the spot, felt how the blood pounded, roared, inside her head. Her mouth gaped or moved, she didn't know, but nothing came out. There were no words. Then a soft voice, a voice she could pick out anywhere, spoke.

“Felicity.”

The whole world cracked and splintered until it was reduced into nothing but that name. Her name. She could still remember how he said it, how it sounded beautiful. He still said it just like that. Like it was his, and his alone, to speak.

At last, she could find her voice again.

“Oliver?”

A broken whisper in a suddenly whole world.


	9. It's on

Oliver nudged her awake with lazy kisses. Just simple touches of lips against lips. Warmth meeting warmth. Happiness.

She groaned and pulled the covers over her head.

“Oliver, I love you, but if you're going to wake me up in the middle of the night, you better have a damn good reason.” A pause. “Or coffee.”

“It's eight o'clock,” came his amused answer from outside her toasty cocoon.

Felicity poked out a finger and waved it in his general direction. “It's Saturday. I'm Jewish.”

“It's funny how you're always Jewish when it suits your needs.”

“Hey,” she protested, now poking out her head. “I do Hanukkah.”

“Only for the gifts,” he countered.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Says the man who insisted on joining me in it.”

An offended snort occurred.

“I was being a good boyfriend.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “I saw the way you were ogling those presents. Don't deny it.”

He slapped away her accusatory finger, before shuffling off the bed.

“I wasn't ogling anything and I resent the implication,” he said, pulling open the dressing drawer.

Reclining back on the plush pillow, Felicity grinned. “You're a gift-digger. Deal with it.”

Oliver looked over his shoulder, a spark in his eye.

“Oh, so you wanna play dirty?” The drawer slammed shut. Sauntering over, he knelt on the bed, leaning into her ear. “Who was it that ate the last gingerbread cookies?”

Gasping, she shot up from the bed.

“You said that you'd never bring that up again!” she cried to his back.

Pulling on his socks at the edge of the bed, Oliver deemed it safe enough distance to answer truthfully.

“Don't eat every single cookie then.”

He even had the time to shrug cockily before she whacked him in the head with a pillow and that was all it took. When he tried to retaliate, she spun out of bed, landing with a bounce on the floor with her weapon still in hand. His huge t-shirt swallowed her body where she stood with her feet firmly planted into the floor, her legs slightly apart. Felicity raised the pillow behind her head.

“It's on,” she announced before diving head first at him.

 

 ↔

The pillow fight was a quick and dirty affair, ending with Felicity body checking him off his feet and onto the bed. She quickly situated herself on top, grinning widely at her triumph.

“I think you're getting out of shape,” she purred, propping her arms alongside Oliver's head and leaning closer.

“You think so?” he breathed back in a low tone.

“Mhm,” she hummed, tracing her lips over the pulse point in his neck. A tremor raised over his skin. His free hands had taken to caressing her bare legs. Now they travelled up over the thighs, bringing her closer when he dipped into her hips and spanned over her back. She caved at the notion, pressing into him to accommodate his touch.

The blonde locks tangled with his fingers when he pushed them into the mishmash of twists and curls, intent on keeping her just there. Right where he wanted her. Felicity's bright blue eyes sparkled above him. The knowledge that he'd always have her like this, get to have mornings like these, made Oliver smile back. His blue eyes matching hers exactly.

“Then let's work out.”

She shrugged casually.

“All right.”

And then he pulled and she pushed until they somehow ended up on the floor in a heap of legs, and arms and love.


	10. 2x06

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity's point of view in the hotel room scene in episode 6 of season 2 - Keep Your Enemies Closer.

She was still bursting with nervous energy when she walked out of the elevator. What if something went go wrong? What if they couldn't get them out? Well, that didn't matter, Felicity decided. If they couldn't get John out tonight, and Lyla of course, then they'd stay until another solution presented itself. So what if she couldn't speak Russian? It couldn't be _that_ hard to learn. And what was the other option? Leave them in Gulag?

“Over my dead body,” she muttered to herself.

Just as she reached the room and lifted her hand to knock on Oliver's door, it opened from the inside.

“Hi,” she smiled, a little surprised.

“Hi,” he answered, taken aback.

“It's time.” She anxiously tapped her palm against her fist. “Ready?”

“Yeah. L …” he started to say but then stopped when he glanced to the left. Isabel appeared at his side, looking straight at Felicity.

Something dropped in her stomach when she understood why Isabel was there. Why Oliver had quieted down. Why he'd hung his head, closing himself off from her.

Defenceless, she met Isabel eyes.

“I think she can take the night off,” Isabel said dismissively, brushing past Felicity before turning her head back towards Oliver. “Don't you?”

Isabel slipped away, leaving Felicity completely stunned behind her. It was impossible to look away. Felicity turned with her when she left, staring as Isabel disappeared around the corner. All she could see in front of her was them, together.

She felt sick.

“Um …” she breathed, more to herself or the floor than to him when she turned back without meeting his gaze. In the small moment, from where he'd opened the door and Isabel had been there, till the now silence between them, the shock, and the numbness of it, had melted away. Leaving Felicity to find out it hurt. It hurt a lot more than it should. And when she'd turned back to him, but not been able to really face him, she'd realized, with that kind of horrifying clarity that no one ever wanted, that she had really fallen in love with him. It wasn't a crush anymore. Nothing passing. She was in love with Oliver.

God, she was stupid.

And for some awful reason, he decided to try and explain.

“Felicity …”

Before he had a chance to rip apart something else inside her, she interrupted.

“It-” she stuttered, closing her eyes. For a second, she gathered enough strength to push it away. To lock it down. When she opened them, she smiled like it didn't hurt. “What happens in Russia stays in Russia.”

Oliver seemed a little thrown by her words. He made no more attempt at trying to explain. When she turned to leave, he remained behind in the doorway.

As soon as her back was turned, the smile slid off. He'd chosen Isabel. Of every single woman, he'd chosen her. Someone he didn't care about. Someone he didn't even like. All of the hurt and pain slipped into the biting words she couldn't stop from bubbling out under her breath as she walked away from him. “Even if it makes no sense whatsoever.”


	11. 2x22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I believe in you - 2x22

It was like feeling warmth for the first time.

When your hands are so cold that you have forgotten what it's like to feel anything.

All this time, all these years, he'd thought that all there was, was cold.

_Biting, killing, cold._

He'd forgotten what it was to feel.

When she pulled him in tight in her embrace, her light drowning him, resurrecting him - he felt.

He felt it all.


	12. You are a memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My scenario from the promo for the mid-season finale - 4x09 Dark Waters
> 
> Tip: Just trust me on this. While you read, listen to Message to Bears - You Are a Memory. I promise it's worth it. It makes the whole story.

If he could break the glass, if he was someone strong enough to make it shatter, he would hold her forever. Longer than forever. Wrap her up into his arms, never ever letting her be ripped away again.

He would tell her everything he'd never said. How much he loved her. How truly lost he was when she wasn't right beside him. He would beg her forgiveness for everything he had ever done. If he could only break the glass, he would take her place. He would give anything to take her place. But it wasn't possible. It wouldn't break.

And she was dying in front of him.

Her terrified eyes were fixed on his, her mouth wide open in horror. All he could do was slam his hand against the glass in a feeble attempt of making his only wish come true. When the palm met solid, cold, glass, when he couldn't hold her as she died, he whispered the words he'd meant to tell her every day for the rest of their life.

"I love you."

She stared back at him, facing away from the enshrouding death.

"I love you," she said back, the thin wall between them making her love inaudible.

Before it was too late, Felicity pushed her hand against his on the pane, trying to touch him one last time. For a moment, for one burning second, he imagined he could feel her warmth.

And then all their time was past.

Her eyes closed as she crumbled to the floor, her hand sliding against the glass until she lost consciousness and it fell away, and with it, she took everything.

Oliver looked down at her body. His mouth slightly open, breathing somehow. And then he wasn't anymore. A sound of pure torture, the sound of deepest pain tore from his chest when he fell down on his knees. With his fists, he pounded, bruised and bled against the barrier between them. He cried out in rage, he cried out in grief, he cried over her until he got his wish.

Something shattered. Something broke.

Every little part of him splintered into nothing until he finally joined her on the floor, unable to move.

Unable to breathe. Unable to survive.


	13. I don't

“I want this,” she told him, earnestly and raw.

She kept a suffocating grip on his shirt. If she'd let go, he'd slip away like fog.

Oliver all too gently removed her without having trouble. No matter how hard she fought, he was better. So good at breaking her heart. It was an art form by now.

But this time it was different. She'd never voiced her wants and needs aloud. She'd never demanded a straight answer to end this dance they'd perfected over these three years.

Now, right now, was his only chance to fix this. Make it all worth something.

He carefully placed her arms along her sides and let her go.

“I don't.”


	15. Marry me

Sadly there was only one door to slam for dramatic effect, but Felicity made due with what she got. Giving it her all, letting her anger pour out into her hand, she hurled it back as she stormed past, hoping that it hit him hard in the head. Maybe then he'd actually get some sense knocked into him. She was halfway down the stairs before she realized that the loud bang had never come. Without looking back, she understood he'd followed, like the moron he was.

“Just take that thing you call head and yank it out your ass!” she snarled over her shoulder.

“Felicity!” Oliver yelled, striding after her stomping figure. “We're not done talking about this.”

She stomped louder, pounding on the steps with her bare feet as hard as she could in protest. If she could have outrun him, she would have. But she knew that was quite unlikely, so she opted to break the stairs instead. 

When her toes touched the soft fabric of the welcome mat in the hall, right down by the stairs, she aimed for the beige coat on the coat rack, intent on getting away from his proximity or else she wouldn't be held responsible for what she'd do. He might be able to outrun her, but not even Oliver could outrun a car.

Her plans were crushed when he grabbed her arm in mid-stomp and she wheeled on him.

“Oh, I want to smack you with something right now!” she snapped, her ponytail swinging wildly, her arm encircled by his fingers. Amid her frankly impressive scowl, Oliver stared down at her, his jaw tense.

She waited for his angry reply, gritted no doubt, since that was his usual implement when he was furious. She didn't have to wait long.

“I want you to marry me,” he retorted, his voice biting, like a punishment. Felicity stopped plotting her righteous escape when she caught on what he'd just said. Her arm became limp in his hold, her whole body slack.

“What?” she asked, her voice a tone she'd never used before. A mix of rage, astonishment and something else impossible to determine.

“Marry me,” he said, repeating his want.

Felicity pulled her arm from him, lifting her hand to her forehead.

“Say it again,” she asked.

Her tone was sweeter now, relaxed even.

“I want you to marry me, Felicity.”

She released her hand from its duty, letting her finger turn in a circle, whipping the air, as she urged him on.

“Nope, didn't catch that. One more time.”

His mouth opened for a second, ready to oblige yet again, but then it closed firmly. Oliver narrowed his eyes sharply, catching on to her. Felicity scoffed at his stupid expression.

“I surmise you're wondering why I'm asking you to repeat yourself from the weird,” she waggled her hand at his whole head, “thing you have going. I just wanted you to hear yourself enough times to realize that stupid can actually be contagious."

“Hey-” he protested, but she cut him off with a protest of her own.

“No! You don't get to _hey_ me when you're standing there,” her voice shrilled on the next word, “ _proposing,_ like it's nothing.”

“I'm dead serious."

“ _HA!_ ” she cried loudly. “You cannot be serious.”

He answered her incredulity with an even, secure, voice.

“Well, I am. I want you to marry me.”

She shook her head in bafflement.

“I know the word _no_ in six languages. Need I use them all or is simple English _over my very dead - rotting, actually - corpse,_ enough?”

“Oh, Felicity,” he sighed, exasperated. He took her by the shoulders, leaning slightly down to keep their gazes locked before he firmly, with conviction, said: “Marry me. Be my wife.”

She blinked up at him, unconsciously touching his hands with her own. 

“You're seriously proposing, in the middle of our biggest fight yet, after _two months_ of leaving Starling, while the only undecided element in my plot to murder you in our bed later is if I'm going to use a pillow or my hands?”

Oliver eyes remained steadily on hers as she recollected every reason why this was as stupid as she'd accused him of being only minutes ago. His only answer was one of calm certainty.

“Yes,” he stated easily.

That shut her up. Felicity regarded him for a moment, letting her eyes follow his form, rake over his bare stomach, see every scar riddled over him like carved memories, past the tattoo above his heart, and up to his eyes. They were a bright blue, focused intently only on her. A spark of light shining in them. He always looked at her like that.

In a hasty blur, she threw herself at him, crying the word loudly.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

He caught her without thinking, holding her above him where the light from the streets could turn her hair into a glowing halo. Her light visible. Visible to others, if there had been someone else there, now, but always visible to him. She was his light. His home. His heart.

His.

“I love you, Felicity Smoak. And now I get to keep you,” he whispered into her neck, marking her with love. She hugged him tighter, making them into one single being with a press of her arms.

“I love you, Oliver. I'll love you forever,” she promised him.

He sat her down on the floor. Their eager hands clashed for a moment like their mouths did when she secured him by his waist and he tied himself with her hair.

“Am I forgiven?” Oliver mumbled against her lips after a time, smiling against his will. Felicity pulled back an inch, grinning sweetly.

“That better be a big ass rock you've got,” she said before pulling him back down, overwhelming him with the feeling of coming home.


	16. Broken S04E10-? Speculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is a "speculation" which in my world means a dramatizing of a scene. I don't really think this will happens since Felicity isn't as melodramatic as me but I really had fun with exploring one way she might be feeling after she learns that she's paralysed. Oh, geez, I sound like a crazy person writing that. The dangers of writing fanfictions. :)
> 
> I do however think there will be a scene or more likely a whole episode where she's pushing Oliver away after said accident so we'll see if the arrow writers have ripped me off again. ^^, 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! :)

The rain was crashing against the windows, showing no sympathy to the poor souls outside. The clustered clouds darkened the already grey evening, making everything they touched pitch black. Even the water cascading down the façades of the opposite buildings from where she was holed up was made from darkness. It was as murky and unreflective as well water, weeping across the glass panes of the apartments until they too were nothing but a smudge of charcoal in a world of ink. No stars could penetrate the shield the skies presented - no was moon visible. Felicity was staring out the glass, staring, but not seeing anything. The darkness outside was blinding, even with the lights inside the loft turned on.

"Do you need anything?" Oliver asked carefully from behind her, slowly placing a hand on her shoulder.

The weight of it was too much. She shrugged it off instantly. Everything inside her wanted to move away from him, or at least turn around to face him, but she couldn't. Not now. Not ever. Her body didn't obey any more. Never again would she be able to storm off or simply walk away. No, she would have to be dependent on him or someone else if she wanted to go anywhere.

"No," she said quietly, barely audible over the clattering rain.

She could hear his light breathing behind her, see a small reflection of him in the glass. He was still standing behind her, hesitating with his hand kept half-reached out to her. It wasn't right. The picture was all wrong. Everything was wrong.

"I'm fine, Oliver," she said in the same low voice, but this time ice coated her words.

Slowly, he retracted his hand and stepped away. Felicity swallowed, thankful that the room was filled with shadows from the outside. She hadn't seen his eyes, hadn't been able to see the hurt she knew she'd put there linger. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. But it was also the only thing she could do. It was the only way she could reconcile the anger, love and betrayal she felt every time he looked at her.

Felicity didn't move her gaze away from the deserted street outside. Her head was firmly turned away from everything around her. She could only hear Oliver moving around in the kitchen area. Soon enough it became background noise, doing nothing to keep her thoughts away. It left her alone to be preyed upon by dreams about the future, a future that wasn't going to happen now.

A sudden ear deafening crash made her flinch. Felicity flipped her head around in alarm to see what had happened.

Oliver was standing beside the dining room table. The one that mere minutes ago had been decorated with a vase of flowers. The flowers were on the floor now, dabbling their stems in a small puddle of water beside the fragments of a crushed vase. The large wooden table had been flipped on the side, taking down the chairs on the right with it. They were trapped beneath the weight, their thin backs creaking in protest. The chairs on the left had fallen too. There was only one of them still standing, a silent witness. By its side was Oliver, staring at the devastation as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Acting like he was a spectator as much as she was. Slowly, infinitely so, his eyes touched to hers. Felicity could feel how she must look. What he must see. Her eyes wide and startled but sheeted with apathy. He stared for a long time at her, looking utterly lost in the space between them, and she couldn't turn away. She couldn't walk to him either. All Felicity needed, the only thing she wanted to, was to walk across the floor, hug him tightly to herself and everything would be all right. If she could only do that, breach the distance, then she would know what to say to make them whole again. Wipe away the desperation he exuded with every breath, that expression of pain. If she only could - god, she would run to him and never let him go. She had never, ever wanted to let him go.

After what could have been hours Oliver finally broke eye contact when he covered his eyes with the palm of his hand. Grateful, Felicity lowered her gaze, focusing on the broken shards by his shoes. His soft voice met her ears.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, so quietly that Felicity wondered if it was meant for her.

Hesitating for a moment, she reached out the only way she could - with words. "It's fine, Oliver," she assured him with as much strength she could muster for his sake.

"Don't," he warned immediately, his voice steel. He uncovered his eyes, and they were shining with anger and frustration. "Don't say it's okay when it's clearly not. Nothing about this is okay. I'm not fine and neither are you, despite your excessive assurance."

She paled at his words but did her best not to show it.

"It's the truth," Felicity tried to say as reassuring as possible but her voice wouldn't, refused, to change into comforting familiar. It didn't even sound right to herself.

"Don't lie to me, Felicity," Oliver said harshly. "I know you're angry at me, that you blame me, and I don't hold it against you. You should blame me."

She blinked.

"You think I'm angry at you because I think it was your fault?"

"Yes!" Oliver shouted, turning away from her. The shards of ceramic crunched beneath his shoes. Felicity saw more than heard his sigh, how his tightly coiled shoulders moved beneath his shirt, relaxing for nothing more than a split of a second before tensing once again.

Bracing herself, Felicity spoke before he could say anything else.

“Yes, I'm angry," she admitted. "I'm furious, because I _can't_ blame you. And I _need_ someone to blame. And the only person, the right person ... is me." Oliver would never know how much she wished for him to be right. To let it be that simple. I blame you - the end. "This is my fault."

Oliver turned towards her at that. His body wild and his hands restless at his sides. “Darhk did this. Not you, Felicity.”

“No," she shook her head. "I _chose_ this. I told you over and over again that I wanted this kind of life." She paused. "But I don't. I don't want this. I knew that I risked my life and that was okay. I fought because I wanted to and if I'd died, then I'd died. But I never actually thought I would. It was surreal. No matter how many times I came close, it never felt like an end. And I never would have known if it was. But this is real. It's real and I don't know how to live this life. This isn't _my_ life. This isn't me."

She looked up at him, desperate for him to understand why it could never be as before. How everything had changed, irrevocably. This was her life now. Her confines would from now on be this chair and his love. One of them she couldn't escape. The other wasn't permanent - wouldn't be anyway. Not like this.

"I wasn't supposed to live through this. I was supposed to die. That is what I'm angry about. I hate you for this. I hate myself for this. I hate everything about us. I'm never going to walk again and I have not one person telling me the truth. It won't be all right." Her voice wavered. "I won't be okay. I'm broken - _I'm in pieces._ And you wonder if I'm angry with you?" She closed her eyes, shutting away everything. Her voice barely a whisper when she continued.

"I hate you for not letting me die. Why couldn't you just have let me die?" she asked, without needing the answer. She already knew why. "Because _this_ , _this_ is turning me into someone I'm not. I don't recognize myself any more and I would rather be dead than live in the body of a stranger. It's taking away everything good about us. Because we can never be that again. We can never have that again. Ever. It's just memories. I'm not the same any more. And if I'm not me, then who am I?

Her throat felt raw after speaking for so long. Felicity swallowed over and over again to try and get rid of the sensation of something rasping inside her throat but it remained. When she at last had told Oliver everything she'd been holding in, all of this that she had been afraid to even acknowledge to herself, she had expected some relief. A small respite at least. But just like the dryness in her throat, the feeling of absolute realisation only brought forward the harsh reality.

Felicity silently waited for him until he would say something. Or maybe do something. React in some way.

It didn't take long.

It was only a few seconds before Oliver crossed the floor, quiet and efficiently. Then he sunk to his knees, levelling their faces. He touched her gingerly, framing her cheeks with trembling hands that were contradicted by the rough hold of his fingers. It hurt when they dug into her skin like blunt nails.

“You're Felicity," he said, loud and clear. "You're still my Felicity. And I'll love you no matter how lost you think you are.”

She shook her head vehemently, sudden tears dripping on her useless legs.

The momentum was enough to make his fingers lose their hold and fall away.

She wanted him to be right, about everything. How easy everything would be if she was just lost. If she was lost then she could be found. Simple. Uncomplicated. But she wasn't lost somewhere. She was wrong. All of this, the walls around her, the rain outside, _them_ \- it was wrong. The world she had returned to wasn't the world she'd left behind. The last thing she could remember was light, happiness, a question with an obvious answer. But then they'd gotten into that limousine. And in there they had been wrapped in a blanket of overwhelming happiness. Too distracted, or too unwilling, to realize that they were saying goodbye. Goodbye kisses that she hadn't known was just that. A goodbye. This wasn't the world she remembered. It had been torn, a piece of hell cut out and plastered over the hole, and now she was living in it.

Her own private part of hell.

“You shouldn't,” she finally said. “You shouldn't love me, Oliver.”

Oliver's breath seemed to still as he took in what she was saying. "You shouldn't."

Felicity placed her hands on the side of the wheels but his followed immediately, barring her own. It was as if they were one entity or that a string was tied between them, him being the marionette and she the master.

“Wait, you told me - when we were trapped together, you told me that marriage was about fighting through the hard times together, live past it because we are together," Oliver said rapidly, while carefully removing both of her cold hands off from the wheels and into his. "Like we are right now.”

Felicity looked down at their entwined hands. Hers were so small against his. Fragile and pale in his hold.

“Nobody can help me, Oliver. There's nothing to fight. It's broken. This – us-" She took a deep breath before she looked into his eyes. "-it's done.”

As she said the last word she released one of his hands. Her own kept his folded until she had placed it away from her lap and against his chest. Then she let it go. His expression didn't change when he slowly unfolded his long fingers. The diamond inside didn't sparkle in the murky light from the windows. It didn't shine with a glow within. It looked cold. Oliver closed his hand around the ring again, the knuckles turning white as he did. When he looked back at her again, Felicity felt how his hand around her captured one almost bruised.

“Felicity...” he whispered, waiting for her to take it all back.

She fixed her eyes on the outside, closing off from him.

“Let me go,” was her quiet answer.

But even now, when she'd returned the ring and through that told him to stop. To leave. To forget - he held on. Oliver was still on his knees, clutching the ring he'd given her in one hand and in the other he had her hand in a vice that felt like it would snap it in two. By now, she wouldn't even feel it. Forcing herself to look at him, Felicity could remember everything that had led them to this, and everything they'd lost to reach this day.

This day that should never have been.

“Let me go,” she repeated gently to him, slowly pulling away her hand from his breaking hold.


	17. Blood debts - S04E10 Speculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just want to note that I wrote some parts of this before the 'Revenge Trailer' came out, (The arrow writers totally ripped me off ^^,) and that this is mere speculation, as the title states. Or, well, it's actually more of a fun dramatizing of the scene rather than what I actually think will occur. I tend to have a penchant for going overboard with the drama.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! :)

There was only the wind dancing over his bare arms for a moment, trying and failing to cool down the blood that roared in his veins. The rush screamed for vengeance. For revenge. For her blood replaced by his. Then Darhk appeared in front of him. He stood at the very end of the other side of the front porch. Beneath the high arches and cold stone walls his eyes seemed dull and lifeless. The piercing blue had turned grey in the night, even with the light coming from the garden light behind him. Instead of enlightening the haunting features the casting brightness plunged them into darkness, leaving only the silhouette to be illuminated - flashing a burning shadow on the red pavement.

The devil ascending from hell.

Oliver waited, curbing the pain for a little while longer.

Darhk strode forward as casual as if he was greeting an old friend. 

"Well, well, well," he said in his polite voice. "This isn't what I was expecting at all. What I was expecting, and eagerly awaiting, in fact, was a very upset and emotional mayoral candidate to make a tearful public announcement to the Star City news. The sad news of his fiancée's untimely death should be a tear-jerker indeed and give those falling ratings a much required boost." The soles of his shoes made no noise as he came to a stop just a few feet away. His voice turned grim on the last words. "Not the city's guard dog."

Oliver's hand tensed so hard around the metal grip it felt like it would pierce his skin. "You harmed an innocent woman," he growled, his voice deathly low.

"Felicity Smoak is an unfortunate casualty," Darhk said. "A victim of war, if you will. Our beloved would-be mayor should have learned by now not display his weaknesses on such a tempting display."

Oliver felt nothing but hatred when he looked into Darhk's eyes. There wasn't anything left but that all consuming rage. Out here it was dark. It was darkness all around him. Death was here, alluring in front of him, and the light, the only light he'd ever known, was dying.

"And for that you'll die," Oliver replied.

Darhk looked at him without showing any signs of even hearing the words. His face still clouded in the darkness enshrouding them both.

"I've done far worse than kill one single woman in my lifetime, and certainly worse in these few months in Star City. What is so special about our Felicity Smoak?" he asked, sounding generally intrigued.

"You've done enough," Oliver spit back, feeling how her name on his lips turned his stomach upside down. "It ends tonight."

Darhk's eyes turned into calculating slits as he studied Oliver for a second before his mouth turned into an amused smile.

Unless ..." he started. "My, my. First Ray Palmer, then Oliver Queen, and now Robin Hood. She must be something special indeed. I would never have guessed the lovely Felicity to be your weakness too." Darhk's gaze that had turned away in this unexpected moment of enjoyment, came back to Oliver's, stabbing into him like knives.

"Tell me," Darhk teasingly said, "does Oliver Queen know about your feelings for his dead fiancée?

Oliver didn't blink.

"You will die for what you did tonight." He readied himself for the impending confrontation. The final call. "For what you did to her-" The bow in his hand was eager to lift, eager to obey his every command. Eager to kill for him. "-I'll kill you."

And then Oliver raised his bow.


	18. 3x12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity's point of view in the alley scene in episode 12 of season 3 - Uprising.

She focused on breathing. In and out. In and out. The refreshing night air did nothing to calm down the upset heartbeat that raised in sync with her distraught thoughts. All of her feelings were fighting each other for dominance and each time she thought one had won, settled itself on top, then the next beat made it slide down to the others, starting the war all over again. Complete anger and overwhelming relief were the biggest contenders, but smaller fighters, like exhaustion and bewilderment, did their fair share of tugging too. It felt like she was pulled in so many direction that she'd break in a second. One strong wind and she'd shatter.

The deep breaths helped with that at least. They grounded her enough to know that it wasn't the end - it simply felt like it. She honestly didn't know what was worse. No, that was a lie. She knew what was worse. Nothing could be worse than thinking he was dead. No pain could ever come close. But this time she had a choice. For the first time in so long, she had a choice. And she couldn't choose him again. Chose the pain all over again. It'd be the death of her.

Closing her eyes, she lifted her head, taking in the slow wind raking its idle fingers over her skin when she heard the unmistakeable sounds of steps against pavement. The sounds that she knew belonged to him, made anger rise in her body until it consumed the pain. Forging her resolve.

“Felicity.”

At his voice, she almost turned around. Almost. Her head twisted slightly on its own, attuned to him. A reflex that'd been honed without her knowledge or permission. But she overcome it and stepped away, breaking his hold over her.

“'I need some air' really means 'I don't want to _talk_ , right now.'”

But she heard him come closer still, stealing her breath all over again.

“I'm sorry,” Oliver said.

That was when she turned around, staring at someone she thought she knew. The admission was pointless. It couldn't help her. Despite their proximity she was alone. Completely and terrifyingly alone.

“For what? Maybe you could be a little more specific?" Felicity threw her hands out, gesturing to the space around them. "For letting us believe you were dead? For weeks? Or for abandoning every principle you claim to have by getting into bed with Malcolm Merlyn? 

Something in her voice made him take a step forward and she instantly recoiled.

“Nuh-uh,” she said, quiet but clear, shaking her head and holding her hand low but as an overt stop sign.

Oliver stilled but he still touched her with his gaze when it met hers.

“That's not why you're upset,” he pointed out, making it real. Raw. Brutal. It sawed apart what little of her that was still connected with her heart.

Her jaw went hard and her body tensed when she readied herself for this finale confrontation. Some part of her was bawling in a corner but right now she couldn't give into that feeling of absolute catastrophe. It wouldn't help anyone. And this would be better. In the long run, it'd be better. It had to. Nothing could be worse than losing him over and over again without him ever really being hers to lose.

"While you were gone ... for almost _a month,_ I allowed myself to fantasize, to dream that maybe, just maybe, Merlyn was wrong, that you were alive and that you would come back and that when you did you would be different, that almost dying would give you a new perspective on life, that you would just _do things differently._ "

He looked at her, his whole person drawing her in with the sadness he radiated.

"Things between us, you mean," Oliver stated. 

Despite that she already knew, despite that she'd told herself that he couldn't hurt anything else of her, she'd been wrong. His inability to understand cut her deeper than any words he'd ever spoken. It sliced her bones. Taking a deep breath, reeling in the pain, Felicity took a step closer. She needed to tell him everything she'd kept back. She needed closure and then she'd move on.

"Before you left, the last thing you said to me ..." She reached him, holding herself together with the last bit of strength she possessed. "was that you loved me." 

The truth in her words made him look down. He didn't try to dispute her. He didn't try to fix it. Any second he could. All he had to do was say that she was wrong. That he had changed. That those words weeks ago weren't a goodbye. That he chose her now. But Felicity didn't actually wait for his answer. Her pause wasn't laced with hopes and dreams. It was simply one last admission of foolish hope. Her finale words weren't formed from a pointless idea. She already knew that he never would give her what she wanted, what she needed, but she had to say them anyway.

If only to ensure herself one last time that this was the only choice she could make.

“Now you're back, and the first thing you tell me is that you are working with the man who turned your sister, a woman you're supposed to love, into a killer, who killed a woman you used to love."

She paused, staring at him, trying to make him react with the will of her mind.

This. Right here. Now was the time. Time for Oliver to step up. To tell her that he loved her. To kiss her. To choose her.

He didn't. He stood like he'd been rooted to the ground, looking down at her with something unknown in his eyes.

She didn't know him at all.

"I don't want to be a woman that you love," she finally said.

He didn't move an inch when she admitted that. He didn't even breathe, not even when she saw how his eyes were glistening with tears.

But he didn't move. So she had to. She had to save herself now.

Felicity turned away from him, walking away from the only place she wanted to be. The part of her that was crying inside still nursed a fools hope. Still begged for something. And it never came. He didn't follow her out of the alley when she turned around the corner and felt the wind soothe her drilling heart.

Felicity closed her eyes.

She was finally free, and it tasted more bitter than anything else ever had.


End file.
